Of Waves and War

8: over the wine-dark sea

Eulises

I wait until she sleeps. That usually takes hours, but still. I have learned to wait for the steady breath on her side of the bed, smooth skin of an immortal gently shining in the moonlight as her ribs rise and fall.

Slowly, I work my hands from the knotted cloth that held me to the bed. Usually I'm too tired to do more than roll to the stone floor and sleep there. Tonight I'm too sore to move. It has been a day. Calypso is cool beside me. I however I am warm and still drenched with my own sweat.

The nymphs at her direction clean me before I am brought to her at night. But I would sooner be cleaned now after, slick with my own sweat and the feel of her skin. I hate it, not only in the vileness that I feel no desire for her, but also in the terrific crime that she is not my wife in my arms. Her body so foreign to me, immortal of course, and slender and smooth and filled with power. And every moment of it reminding me that it is not my wife I hold close to me. Penelope, meant to fit in my arms as she is, I know the smell of her skin the curve of her shoulders and hips. I sob afresh for I would trade a thousand years of immortality to just fall asleep tonight my face on her stomach, her short fingers in my hair as she whispers to me as I slip off to sleep. To lie like that once more I would endure a century more of this torture. If only I could take her in my arms again and know the safety and peace that I've only felt there.

Stupid that I never took a lover but her. Before her, that is. My mother laughed at me and asked me where I got off scorning the company of any man or woman. I said none suited me. I couldn't abide idle talk or simpering attitudes and I loved a sharp wit and tongue but could find none worthy of my own intellect. And then I found the most perfect woman in the world. I would sit for hours, listening to her explain her projects, or a book she'd read, or anything. For once a voice was more delightful than my own.

"I am asking permission to court your daughter," My father's hand on my shoulder. He was making me do it, sure the only reason I tripped home each day face flushed still laughing to myself, was that I was sleeping with her. I was not. I was talking with her for hours on end about anything at all. And I'd never been so happy.

"Helen's hand his already taken," my father in law was a pragmatist I do not fault him for it.

"No—your other daughter—Penelope," I said, frowning. Penelope stood behind him, cocking her head in a way that said only to me that I owed her a trip to a park at midnight to climb trees, for losing the bet that he'd know who I meant. It was a bet I was happy to lose.

"Oh—what? You do?" he asked, surprised, then.

"We sail home soon, and my son is adamant he'd enjoy her company," my father said, nicely, "For a few weeks only, as my wife's guest. She could remain with my parents during her stay for your comfort."

"Father, I want to go," Penelope said, quickly.

"I'd have to talk it over with her mother," he said, still surprised.

"Of course, we'll leave," my father tugged me to leave rather rudely, as I was attempting to signal to Penelope I would kidnap her if she wanted and if she didn't want I'd just slip off the boat and stay it was up to her and that's a lot to get out through hand gestures and head nods while being ushered out of a room.

"You really fancy that girl?" my father said, amused, as we walked back down the long stone drive to where the horses waited. We'd ridden from the estate we were staying at, my mother's friends who were not happy to have us but they had no real choice.

"I love her," I said, quietly, "I think."

"Be sure you know," he said, squeezing the back of my neck, then cuffing the back of my head, lightly. "That's all. You've never taken an interest in girls before. You do know the idea was you court her sister?"

"I don't care about mother's plans. This is my happiness, and Penelope is perfect didn't you see her? It's like my heart stops each time she smiles," I sighed.

"She was quite pretty."

"She's not pretty. She's perfect, I've drawn her face, it's the golden ratio, every detail fits exactly where it should. Sometimes in the dark I think of something to tell her then it's torture all day to wait till I can find an excuse to see her again, isn't her voice soft? It's soft and deep and it sounds like hearth crackling in winter, warm and like you want to lie with it forever," I said, staring off.

"I'm just asking that you not kidnap her if her father says she cannot go."

"I'll make no promises for you hate when I break them."

"Eulises."

"Fine," I said, not meaning it at all.

"You'd really kidnap her? Get in trouble for this girl? She means that much?" he was more amused than anything.

"She's everything."

She is everything.

She is.

I painfully slide out of bed, rubbing the marks on my wrists and arms where the goddess bound me. She ordered the nymphs take my clothes and sandals because for some foolish reason she thinks that that might stop me from leaving. When her clothes are here? And we are close enough to the same size? I find a dark enough robe and wrap it around my waist only, then slip off. The nymphs are not asleep for they do not sleep; however I have learned there is a limit to the amount of trickster misery that they put up with in a day and I reached it about noon with the weapons and things they had to confiscate from me.

I leave the castle and once again slip down to the beach.

"You are everything. I am coming home to you. Or at least I'm dying trying. You expect no less of me. If I didn't tell you enough, which I didn't because enough would be every single moment, you are perfect to me. And I am lucky for every moment I had with you and I'd do this all again if it meant an hour by your side," I say, as I wade into the water. I cannot stay another night there. I will swim as far as I can. Or drown trying. Drowning is not the most unpleasant alternative as there are tales of shades escaping the Underworld. I feel it is entirely within my skillset to bargain with or possibly cheat the god of death all together and make my way home from there, possibly in a simpler manner than lies before me.

I wade deeper into the water. the waves are as fast and fierce as ever. And soon I am kicking though it does little to keep me afloat. The sea is as hateful as the day it spit me up on this island.

Quickly, I am no longer swimming, but am instead just struggling for each next breath as yet another wave threatens to pull me down. And then one finally crashes over my head and I am plunged beneath the surface.

Salt water fills my mouth shocks my lungs. I kick, but I no longer know which way is up. All is black. And as my vision fades I fight to imagine Penelope's arms reaching out to me through the dark.